[The Game]I'm from Compton where them guns bust, watch Poppa George popCats tellin jokes at them car gamesSeen big face hundreds, handle the rock like Nate ArchibaldWhat? This nigga only sixteenAnd I wanted to be, just like him, middle school fightinAny nigga with a chip on his shoulder, whattup nigga?You want beef with me? Now I let the heat speak for meNo more talkin, just outline chalkinNigga Witta Attitude from birth, "100 Miles and Running"Gunnin bustin shots like fuck the copsNotorious for burnin blocks, weavin in and out of traffic and chopGame the young Robin Hood of the blockSteal from the rich, give to the poor, coward niggaz rockSecond comin of this black Alfred HitchcockKick in the door, wavin the four-fourTen shots to your spleen, let them violins sing

[Chorus: Blue Chip + (The Game)]Yo, I'm just a ghetto nigga stuck in this game, young'uns runnin with 'caineRain hits so we floodin the gameWhen you come to Compton respect the grounds, leave you shook man(And I look good, from Compton to Brooklyn)Hey yo I don't give a fuck who you are, fuck ya iceFuck the block that you claim, fuck your Bentley Azure(Dead presidents is all I represent)('Til y'all met me y'all niggaz ain't met gangsta yet)

[The Game]Fast cars, money and muscle, the hustle I was brought up in the 80'sGangbangin, dope traffic, shit get crazyFrom where niggaz grow up hard like dicks raisedThem hustlin guns like Knicks players, we got mouths to feed'Til they put flowers on me, moms kiss my cold cheekIn that pine box, I'm buyin rocks, eyein copsFuck a cell block, the young kid makin it happenWho you think got them fiends runnin back like Bo Jackson?I'm a gangsta, what else could I say?I'm ahead of myself like it's Y4K2Pac, Scarface, N.W.A.Taught me how to dodge them bullets, keep my wig in playKeep fo' snug in the waist or pay a thousand to have 'emNiggaz in the street move faster than, Michael Jackson's albumBut the shit don't really matter to me, we get better GBet the four slow 'em down like PCP

[Chorus]

[The Game]Real gangsters never talk shit, handle they businessFuck the dry snitchin and bitchin, niggaz die when them bullets flyWho fuckin with him, ha? Not a nigga aliveEnd up dead in that 5He got no sympathy for them dead guys, friend or foeWatch that chest cave in, what that vest savin?Make it sloppy for the autopsy, leave my enemies in a frenzyOn the frontlines holdin a 9Everyday a new chapter, my own niggaz plottin on meTryin to hit me but they won't get me, feel the semi firstFuckin with my dough, is the worst way to goY'all know, niggaz cry when them bullets burn slow dummyIn and out of spots watchin my moneyIf one dollar come up missin bodies start to come up missinNo one too heavy for the Expedition, piss on your corpseWatch your soul shiver, throw him in the river, bitch nigga